Saturday, February 2, 2013

Insomnia

I wait here in darkness.
Waiting for that man with the bag,
the one called Sleep.
It is he who places the sand beneath your eyelids,
and whisks you off to dreamland.

The clock ticks gently above my head,
reminding me that morning will come
regardless of my intentions
and dearest wishes.

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M is for Margaret, who was swept out to sea...